


I'll Be There For You

by Binary_Sunset



Series: Smut Challenges [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Homophobia? I Don't Know Her, Hospital Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Action Patch Ups, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/pseuds/Binary_Sunset
Summary: Napoleon rescues Illya after a mission gone wrong.





	I'll Be There For You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Season of Kink](https://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/) prompt "Hurt & Comfort"
> 
> I'm not certain that I love this one, as the new characters were giving me a fair bit of trouble. I hope you guys enjoy it anyway, though!

He’d probably killed half the guards while trying to get to Illya. Napoleon Solo hadn’t meant to go on such a rampage, but after being tricked by their contact and watching Illya be taken away by those damn gangsters, he didn’t have much self control left.

When he’d finally broken into the room where Illya was being held, he was instantly relieved by what he saw.

Illya hadn't been hurt too badly. He had a few bumps and bruises, but the worst of his injuries was a nasty gash on his forehead, which he’d probably be able to stitch up on his own.

"Come on, Peril. Let's get you home." He offered his shoulder for Illya to lean on,

He took a few steps, presumably to get a feel for his damage, before leaning on Napoleon's shoulder. They slowly made their way out of the hideout, to where Gaby was waiting in the Jeep.

“How is he?” Gaby asked as Illya laid out in the back seat.

“Conscious,” Illya reported, resting his head on the worn leather.

Napoleon pulled a first aid kit from under the seat and got to work. He started by putting on gloves and pressing gauze to Illya’s forehead, sopping up the blood and letting the pressure stop the bleeding.

Once the wound had stopped bleeding, Napoleon got to work sterilising the wound. He opened up a bottle of isopropyl alcohol and dabbed it on Illya’s wound with a cloth. Napoleon tried not to see the subtle way Illya cringed when the alcohol entered his wound.

Once it was all sterilised, Napoleon looked over his shoulder to where Gaby was in the driver’s seat, focused on the dirt road.

“Hey Gaby, are we getting home soon?” he asked.

“We’ve got a few more minutes,” Gaby answered, “Everything okay back there?”

“Mostly, yeah. I think Illya’s head is going to need stitches, and I’d rather not do that in a moving vehicle.”

“Really? I would’ve thought you’d be up to the challenge,” Illya muttered.

Napoleon rifled through the first aid kid. “I don’t even have a needle in here!”

He chuckled. “That was a joke, Cowboy. I thought you were supposed to have a sense of humour.”

“How was I supposed to know you Commies aren’t out there sewing up wounds in the backs of trucks going through Siberia?”

“Oh, we are. But I don’t know how much I trust your stitching.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes and gave Illya another gauze pad. “Just hold this against your wound until we get home.”

* * *

Gaby finally pulled the Jeep into the driveway by the safehouse and immediately opened the rear door for Napoleon, Illya leaning on his shoulder for support.

They got Illya into the safehouse quickly, laying him out on the twin bed that had belonged to him during the mission.

Napoleon looked him over. While he was thankful that the damage was relatively minimal, he still felt like there was something wrong. Illya had almost never needed Napoleon’s help walking after an injury, and even when he did, he was always reluctant to receive it.

He had to figure out what was wrong.

“Alright, Peril, I need you to strip.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Napoleon realised what he’d said. But there was no point taking it back now.

Much to his surprise, Illya didn’t have a snarky remark to that. He just started stripping off his clothing, first his shirt and cap (which had miraculously managed to stay on), then his pants, leaving him only in his boxers.

Napoleon bit his lip, looking at Illya’s body for what must have been the first time. While it was riddled with scars, presumably from his KGB training and missions, Illya was still a sight to behold. His muscles were in impeccable shape despite the occasional bruises, kept sharp from constant training in between missions. Napoleon let his eyes roam around Illya’s torso, appreciating his solid form, before finally getting down to his legs.

A massive bruise was blossoming just above his kneecap.

Before he could think better of it, Napoleon sucked a breath in.

“It’s not broken,” Illya assured, if a thickly-accented deadpan could be considered “assuring.”

“Are you sure?” Napoleon asked, not being able to help himself as he reached down and gently prodded at it.

Illya didn’t wince, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in pain.

“If you think I haven’t had my kneecaps shattered before, you’re mistaken.” He bent his leg just to make a point, his face twisting up in pain. “They hit me in the femur. It takes more than a strike from a lead pipe to break me.”

Soon, Gaby came back with one of UNCLE’s regulation field kits, complete with a sterile needle and thread. If she noticed Illya’s state of undress, she didn’t seem to care.

“Are you going to need any help sewing him up?” she offered.

“No, I think I can handle the gash on his forehead on my own.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” She quickly turned around and made her leave.

Napoleon was certainly no stranger to first aid. Even back in his art thief days, he’d had to sew up a few bullet grazes and stab wounds. Though, in his experience, it was always better to have someone else do it for him.

He set to work sterilising his hands, covering them with a fresh pair of gloves, and preparing the needle and thread. Once everything was prepared, he gripped the curved needle with the driver, brought the skin together with the forceps, and got to work.

With his face so close to Illya’s, he was abe to _ really _ see his face for the first time. The piercing blue eyes and manly cut of his jawline, now dotted with stubble from the days they spent in the woods, staking out a criminal hideout. He looked almost unhinged now, with his hair wild and fresh bruises.

Napoleon took a breath. _ Focus _. He had to sew up Illya’s wound before he bled out.

Upon closer inspection, it didn’t look like he’d need more than two or three. He got to work on the actual sutures, bringing the needle into his flesh. Illya let out a quick breath as he did so, likely in lieu of a flinch or yelp.

He finished up the sutures, taking care to tie them just tight enough to keep the skin together without making it tent up or dip downwards.

“Now, you’re going to get some bed rest until the extraction team arrives,” Napoleon said firmly.

Illya opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Napoleon cut him off.

“That’s a command, not an offer.”

* * *

The extraction team finally reached their safehouse three days later, bringing a helicopter for a quick escape and a stretcher for Illya. He refused the stretcher, but did accept the offer of a hospital visit once they got back to London.

Which was how Napoleon and Gaby ended up in the waiting room of Royal London Hospital, waiting to hear about Illya’s condition.

“He’ll probably be fine,” Napoleon said for what must have been the fourth time, more to himself than to anyone else. “Just some bumps and bruises and a cut on his forehead.”

“You never know with Illya, though,” Gaby chided, “I swear, he can hide just about any injury from us.”

“I know that. And he was barely able to walk when we first got him out of there. I just hope he isn’t hiding something serious.”

Once Napoleon was finished saying that, one of the nurses walked into the room, clipboard in hand.

“Napoleon Solo and Gaby Teller?”

They both stood up as their names were called.

“Your friend, Illya, wants you to be there when we discuss the x-ray results.”

The nurse led them down the hallway and into a side room, where Illya was lying on a gurney. He’d changed into a hospital gown, his normal outfit folded on one of the chairs.

A doctor in a white lab coat took the clipboard from the nurse and motioned for the two of them to sit down.

“Alright,” the doctor started, looking over the notes on her clipboard. “So, the good news is that it doesn’t appear that any bones were broken during the incident. And the stitches were done well enough that we aren’t going to have to redo them. You’re definitely going to want to get them removed some time next week and the cut is definitely going to scar. But whoever sutured it made sure it wouldn’t scar too badly.”

Napoleon felt himself preen at that.

“The bruise above his knee should fade out in a few more days.”

Gaby gently prodded his side. “Hey, not bad for getting the shit beat out of you.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “I told you I was fine.”

“We’re preparing your discharge papers now, and you’re welcome to stop by the front desk whenever you’re ready.”

The doctor left and a moment later, another nurse stepped inside the room. “We’re going to need you to help fill out the discharge papers.”

As Napoleon followed Gaby out, he suddenly felt a strong hand grip his wrist. He whirled around to find Illya to be the one responsible, a pleading look in his blue eyes.

“Stay,” he said, little more than a whisper.

Napoleon looked towards Gaby. “Hey, I think I’ll stay here with Illya. Come get me if you need my help with the paperwork, okay?”

Gaby nodded and followed the nurse out the door.

Napoleon took a seat in the chair nearest Illya’s face. "What's up?"

"You didn't have to take care of me, you know," Illya said. If he was chiding Napoleon, his tone didn't betray it.

"We're teammates, Peril, I…" He wanted to say _ I have to come back for you _, but that just felt wrong somehow. "I wanted to make sure you were alright. Because you're the worst goddamn sick patient on the planet."

Illya snorted. "Is that all?"

Napoleon swallowed, trying to keep his words at bay. "I… don't know what you mean."

"While you were undressing, me, I thought…" His cheeks turned bright pink. "Well, that's not important."

Napoleon sucked in a breath. "What can I say? You're a very handsome man, Peril. That's what this is about, right?"

Illya smiled like the cat who caught the canary. “I knew you were ogling me while I was undressing for you.” He reached out and grabbed Napoleon’s hip. “What are you going to do about that?”

He scanned the room, taking careful note of the nurses footsteps in the hallway. When he heard them pass, he knelt down and whispered into Illya’s ear. “What am I going to do about it? Once you’re all healed up, I’m gonna show you the time of your goddamn life.”

Illya used his grip on Napoleon’s hip to bring him closer. “Why wait, then?”

_ Because you’ve just been discharged from the hospital and I don’t want to stress your body out _ was what Napoleon wanted to say, but instead he leaned in and kissed him.

Illya’s lips were chapped from their time spent in hiding, and his stubble was rough against Napoleon’s bottom lip. But he was a responsive kisser: quick to follow Napoleon’s lead and even quicker to take it from him. Before Napoleon could process everything that was going on, Illya’s nimble tongue was exploring Napoleons mouth.

But as soon as Napoleon noticed what was happening, he pushed Illya’s tongue out of his mouth before licking into his own. It was just a quick flick, nothing more, but it definitely got the point across.

Napoleon Solo was nothing if not competitive.

But as the kiss got more heated, Illya’s hand started to roam from its perch on Napoleon’s hip over to his ass.

Napoleon broke the kiss and took the opportunity to lean into Illya’s grip. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so handsy.”

“Aren’t you a spy, Cowboy? Or did the CIA not train you to read people?” Illya’s delivery was always deadpan, but this time, Napoleon could sense some playfulness to his taunt.

“I was a thief first. And I’m going to take what I want,” Napoleon purred, taking the opportunity to run a hand down Illya’s front and palm his cock.

“Take it, then. Don’t leave me waiting.”

Napoleon bit his lip for a moment. He _ really _ didn’t want to hurt Illya any more, especially since he was in the process of being discharged. But he was also never one to back down from a challenge…

So instead, he decided to give Illya’s cock a couple firm strokes. “Oh, I’ll get what I’m after. But I’m going to take my sweet time with you, Peril.”

Once Illya’s cock was fully hard, Napoleon rucked up the hospital gown and took a moment to appreciate his member. It was a bit shorter than average, but the girth was more than Napoleon had been expecting. He’d seen his fair share of cocks, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen bigger.

So he leaned over the side of the hospital bed and got to work.

He’d never given a blowjob _ quite _ from this angle before, and it was in no way ideal. Illya’s cock hit his gag reflex before he was really able to deep throat it. But Peril didn’t seem to mind. He fisted his hands into Napoleon’s hair, letting out a few stifled moans as his cock was played with.

It just made Napoleon want to hear what Illya would sound like if he was being fucked properly, instead of just given quick head in a hospital room.

But regardless of the technique, Illya still came quickly, shooting his load right down Napoleon’s throat. Napoleon swallowed it eagerly before pulling off of Illya’s softening cock and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well,” he said, “I hope you enjoyed the shittiest blowjob I’ve ever given.”

(That was a bit of an exaggeration. The absolute worst blowjob Napoleon had ever given was in the back of a taxi in Paris when he was nineteen, but that was neither here nor there.)

“It was… acceptable. I’d like to see what else you can do once we can get into a real bed.”

Napoleon swatted Illya’s shoulder. “Get those damn stitches taken out of your forehead and then we can talk about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here are [my social media](https://linktr.ee/Binary_Sunset)


End file.
